Posts Tagged ‘right’

“You’re so nice.
You’re not good,
you’re not bad,
you’re just NICE.
I’m not good,
I’m not nice,
I’m just RIGHT.” ~The Witch, from “Last Midnight”

from “Into the Woods” by Stephen Sondheim.

Four-point-o

One hundred percent

A plus

Here’s where we go wrong:

believing perfection

is attainable.

A Song Inspired by the works of Stephen Sondheim,

specifically “No One Is Alone” from “Into the Woods”

I’m all alone now

Nothing to speak to, but the air

Just ‘cause no one’s here now

doesn’t mean they don’t care

So why do I feel so lonely?

So empty and despaired?

Will things be okay?

Please, no one tell me that I’m wrong

Throughout all of next day

I have to appear strong

Is it wrong to feel this empty?

Is it wrong to be scared?

Where did I go wrong?

Pushing too hard, falling too fast

Was it doomed all along?

Why does the pain last?

It’s said that you’re never alone

Someone will take your side

My someones’ left me all alone

Don’t even have my pride

Will things be okay?

Please, someone, help me to be strong

Say “let the feelings stay”

Tell me I’m not wrong

Conversation is not my strong suit.

In fact, most people know me as being mute,

or simply quiet.

So finding the right words to say

to you is difficult. Each day,

I won’t deny it,

I want to say “hello”, and so much more.

But before I can, you close the door.

Do the worries cease?

Worries that I’ll say something wrong,

or that before I articulate you’ll be long

gone. Out like a breeze.

In the dead of night I wake

and go to the mirror.

All is black except

for the yellow light between my reflection

and the real me.

What I see in the mirror is

two halves.

I am flesh on one side,

phantom on the other.

Oh, but this is frightening!

None could understand it,

for even barely do.

My right half is frail and frightened,

brown dots and blemishes rising

from pale skin to pronounce

this look of fear.

But the phantom on the left side of me

smirks. It is more solid than my right half,

it is iron!

No matter how warm and wistful my right side:

unfolding one palm upward, like a flower,

an offering to a warm and delicate, feminine hand;

my left side sneers revealing its serrated teeth,

the marks of its ferocious appetite

with white drool streaming from inside its maw,

but all the while an innocent lily-like glow

in its eye.

What is this apparition?

A manifestation of internal struggle?

Hallucination? Nightmare?

Or is it merely what I’ve written it to be?

No one’s watching

as I close the door and love a photograph.

No one’s watching

as I sing to myself in whispers,

and dance in the yellow-orange light

of incandescent bulbs

which burns against the blue walls of this room.

No one’s watching

as I bend my head over

and feel myself split,

like a log under a wood cutter’s axe,

from the overwhelming concept of the future.

No one’s watching

as I plead in the dark- swallowed by shadow-

for a sign or a signal,

as innocent as a thunderclap,

or devastating as a tidal wave,

to shove me in the right direction,

because I just don’t know what’s right anymore.

Everyone is preoccupied

with their own complicated lives.

Am I in the right?

Am I right?

Am I alright?

I’m not, I’m not…

and nobody’s watching.